


Huntington Beach Archangels

by lucyraebrown



Category: Original Work
Genre: Archangels, California, Christian undertones, Death, Ghosts, God - Freeform, Heaven, Huntington Beach, LGBTQ, M/M, Mary Magdalene - Freeform, Original Characters - Freeform, Original Fiction, Original work - Freeform, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Surfing, archangel/human, religious
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-20
Updated: 2019-09-09
Packaged: 2020-07-09 12:17:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,218
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19887649
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lucyraebrown/pseuds/lucyraebrown
Summary: Recent resident of Heaven Bohdi Tate desperately wants to return home to his paradise in Huntington Beach, California, deciding that his death was a mistake made by God himself. Committed to change his mind, a high archangel by the name of Harris, who recently gained his wing, takes him into his care to show him that there's more to the afterlife than the sorrow of death.





	1. The Beginning, or, The Death of Bohdi Tate

Heaven was, to the surprise of Bodhi, not like Huntington Beach, California. 

In fact, despite all of the aphorisms he had grown up around about his hometown on the shore, it was nothing near the familiar crashing of waves against the rocks that he assumed it to be. Heaven was a universe of cold stone floors, castles too big to feel home, and encompassed by men and women advertising tips on how to cleanse sin, meet your soulmate (for those who hadn't found one while living), and those in constant prayer, even if they made it to the place they'd spent an eternity scouring for. It was, nevertheless, always mild and the weather was as adequate as could be, but the people were not any more welcoming and the food any better.

Heaven was quite like Earth, other than the clouded meadows and pleasant, flowery smell; it was not like Huntington Beach, and that was something Bodhi Tate would care to piss on. 

Bo had spent seventeen years on Earth, and fifteen of those in the warm California waters. He was as accustomed to strolling on water as he was dirt, having used up his lifetime surfing amongst the tides, drinking 32-ounce pineapple slushies, and stealing Quiksilver coupons from his classmates to use on board wax and braided bracelets. He was a hodgepodge of matted down golden-brown curls, soaked from the salty sea, and always-sparkling hazel eyes that spent more time secured under the sea than studying textbooks. When it rained, he planned for the sunshine, and when the sunlight was nigh, he planned for more. He was happy, very happy. 

Bohdi is no longer happy.

He hates Heaven, and he hates God for sending him here. 

"What're you in for?" Asks a beyond-graying man next to him inside the train car, heading for the capital to preferably ask for his youth back. Bodhi grunts, watching as the vehicle flies through a sea of cloudy, salt-free waters. What he would kill for those clouds to turn into the Pacific, and for the salty water to slap against his heels off of the pier in his heart. 

"I want to go home," The boy shrugs a shoulder, flicking a nail into his mouth to rip off. "Gonna ask the big man upstairs if he'll give me another chance."

"Uh-huh, that's what they all want," The man chuckles, wrinkles on his face getting larger by the second. "Son, accept that God wants you here! Whatever you were meant to do down there on Earth is complete! Relish, now you can relax without stressing the little things. Heaven is real and we're here!"

Bo huffs like an out-of-breath quarter horse, the train ticket in his hand crumbling as he curls his palm in. Of course, he didn't believe a word of that. Who lets the newest member of the Bronze Boardriders die on a sunny day like this one? Not God, the man he's heard endless positive stories about. Isn't he supposed to help the poor and the sick, and let the rest of humanity take care of themselves? Why he, such a valuable member of society? 

At least the afterlife had free transportation and pre-packaged pretzels.


	2. The Introduction of A Four-Thousand Year Old Archangel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bohdi meets Harris, the highest, overly proud archangel of Heaven.

Harrison Magdalene was on the prowl.

The archangel had been following his most recent task for the past week or so, disguised as a rather conspicuous-looking gray tomcat (if he did say so himself). Hiding in plain sight was easy if you were human or animal, but not as an angel who had just recently gained a pair of very lavish feather-white wings as a result of his four-thousandth birthday. Of course, he was born an archangel, as being the grandson of the famous Mary Magdalene certainly had its perks, but assignments were much more manageable when you didn't have to diminish someone with wings the dimension of a fully-grown African elephant. The cat, who was, again, quite the handsome fellow, could easily snake around Heaven and Earth as a stray, begging for food. Once the cat won the recognition of his distinct human, it was time to watch them burn. 

Then, as he had done for Bohdi Tate in the past five hours, anticipate for them at the Gate to lead them into the afterlife with as little mishap as possible. 

Rarely, however, did Harris have to do such a task. Many of the afterworld's residents never saw Him, not even as long as they lived on in the wide, wide world that Heaven was. No, God couldn't see everyone, and those who did certainly did not impress He. The archangels were a special group of angels who, in their high title, retrieved those living (or dead, and had just gained the attention of He) who were worthy of a heaven-sent upgrade. Most of the time this included astonishing riches, recognition by He himself in commemoration for outstanding duty in life (Harris quite enjoyed the ceremonies of both Freddie Mercury and Queen Elizabeth I), or infrequently, were considerate enough to become an angel themselves. 

He was unsure in his angelic ways, nevertheless, of why exactly the young boy he had been following in these moments was worthy of meeting He. A few people a year usually made it up to that ranking, and one of those certainly couldn't be Bohdi Tate, who was as boring as paste on a blank sheet of paper. Before death, Harris found that the man was flauntful, with women on his shoulders and sun in his skin which dotted every last corner of his near-perfect body. Heaven was full of these kinds of people, man or women. Why did they need another?

But to doubt God, and think he made a mistake was the thought of a sinner, and Harrison Magdalene was no sinner. He decides to give Bohdi another try.

After following him from the gates to the kiosk where he retrieved his train card, the archangel boarded the train with ease knowing he had done this many times before and settled on the plush carpet below the boy. He spread his legs out and licked his paws, watching his world pass with somnolent blue eyes. Even as a cat, his brilliant pupils did not change appearance, and thus stayed a gorgeous ocean blue that reflected in the milk in his cereal every morning with a sleepy, hazy look. Bohdi was quiet, for certain, as he brushed off the many comments from passengers around him and kept to himself. Of course, he wouldn't become comfortable with his death for many years (most didn't). Harris never understood why; Heaven was full of food, unlimited archangel room service, brilliant marble castles and fountains of gold, and, most importantly, humans of all ages and sizes to pick on. He liked that perk especially.

He decides to show himself after watching the solemn boy parade around the center circle for moments passed, blank brown eyes depressed and confused. The center circle was the first part of Heaven was a space similar to a Roman marketplace consisting of many gates. These gates included destinations for the residents to dwell in, present their concerns to the messengers, and wander hopelessly in search of loved ones not yet dead. It was supposed to be a hopeful place, but for many like Harris' boy, a place of desolation and mental turmoil. 

Leaping from a nearby pillar (and landing on his feet, of course. Kitty perks), the archangel strutted his way towards Bohdi, who had made himself comfortable on a bench made of stone, eyes frantically surveying the circle. Harris purred in delight, watching as the new resident fell to the attention of the beautiful gray cat in front of him. He swishes his tail, blinking his eyelids and showing the pair of Heaven-sent pupils he owned. Knowing Bohdi could become bored with watching a stupid cat, the archangel made the decision to show himself, snapping his fingers and, in a second, revealing his tall, winged self in front of the surfer. 

Bohdi's yellow-brown eyes grew large, and he made an 'o' with his pale lips as the angel came to form. 

Harrison was beautiful, of course; as he was a high, young archangel. He had pale white, feathery skin and dark straight locks above his ears, skinny and built as he flashed his ton-heavy wings around in the marketplace. Everyone here could see him, but most didn't raise an eyebrow; it was often they saw angels frolicking in the public spaces, taunting the humans with snickers of laughter. The archangel himself loved to taunt the new and confused dead- he found it to be entertaining as well as pathetic. Humans never seemed to change regardless of age, appearance, or gender. Most were boring- and in his four-thousand years- all the same. 

"Hello Bohdi," Harris greets in a thick, posh English accent. He bows slightly, his wings flapping with the gentle heavenly breeze. "I've been following you for a while now. Welcome to Heaven. How has your stay been?"

The boy raises an eyebrow, frantically flicking his skull around in search of other angels. Great, he wasn't surrounded.

"It's been hell," He admits, standing from the bench to match height (besides the wings) to Harris. He rubs his arm with a palm, thankful that his fist didn't disappear like that of a ghost. "I'm not sure if I'm dreaming or not. Do you know how I died?"

Harris chuckles, hands on his hips. "Of course I know how you died, Bohdi. You died in a surfing accident off the coast of Huntington Beach, California. I was there. You crashed into quite the hefty stone head-on and ripped your skull open. It was quite bloody if I do say so myself. But I've seen much worse, trust me."

Tate, dumb-struck, bites his lip. Then he pinches himself. "Wake up, wake up, you're dreaming..." He insists, his skin reddening with each infliction. Harris rolls his eyes, taking in his wing the human and stroking slightly soft tan skin. 

"Calm down, Bo, you're not dreaming. You really are dead! But in luck, I should say. Allow me to introduce myself."

Flying up into the sky, Harris flaps his wings and does a few flips, making glitter fly through the air and a few feathers to fall at Bohdi's feet. "I am Harrison Magdalene, High Archangel of Azrael," He announces loudly in a sing-song tone. "I have been gifted the task of delivering you to He for a very important task."

"Great, so you can help me get home!" The surfer ignores the entire speech that his partner had delivered, and instead gets straight to the point- not being dead. 

Harrison lowers himself to the ground, shaking his head. "Bohdi, you do believe in God, do you? He has sent you here for a reason."

Bohdi brushes off the comment, light on his heels. "He made a mistake! I'm not supposed to be here, there must have been a mix-up. Do you know anyone who can help me get back to Huntington? I haven't been dead long enough for people to realize, right?"

Harris gives his pupil a comical look. Why did humans have to be this stupid? Did Bohdi even know how long it took to process someone into the afterlife, let alone have them in the system in a few days? "You've been dead for over two weeks, Bohdi. I have the funeral on tape." He brings him into his wingspan once again, softly cradling the young boy as he allows a few tears to fall from his cheeks. "It's okay, we're going to take care of you here. I'd show you around, but it truly is dire that you come with me. You're on the waiting list to see God- some people have been here for a thousand years and are still at the bottom. Don't you want to see what he has to say?"

"No, no," The surfer insists, walking away from the archangel's grip. "No, I'm going home. I'm not dead, I can't be."

"If you say so," Harrison chuckles, flying after Bohdi towards the entrance gate. 

With a life like Bohdi Tate's, who would want to be Heaven's newest resident?


	3. A Flashback (Of Sorts)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bohdi reminisces on his home, Hunting Beach, CA., and Harris makes him a gift that guarantees he can return.

The salty ocean water was laced with sunlight as Bohdi dipped his big toe into the surf, testing the temperature with his wisest perception. He couldn't wait to dip the rest of his body in. 

The morning was perfect; cool, creamy air without the usual stress of humidity. Middle-summer heat. The perfect heat in a sense; the waves would be high today, the temperature just above eighty degrees- good for California, bad for any other state concerning the weather. This gives an idea as to why the Tate's stayed in Huntington Beach for as many generations as possible. 

Linea Tate was Bohdi's mother- a beautiful blonde with luscious curls as bouncy as the seagulls in a windy sky. She made jewelry for a living and made sufficient money doing it. If tourism didn't exist, the Tate's may have been better off looking for a life outside of the coast, but it never died down here. His father, Roman, was the owner of a local restaurant, one that had been generational, owned by his father, bought by his grandfather. They had a beautiful house, minutes away from the ocean. They had a beautiful son, a dog, and years ahead to enjoy the sand and the surf. 

South of Los Angeles, Huntington Beach was swarming with those looking to discover their "secret spot", a section of the coast where people weren't constantly spreading litter and tending to screaming toddlers. The International Museum of Surfing, where Bohdi worked during the colder months when the water just wasn't perfect enough, brought in people from around the globe, anxious to lay an eye upon ancient longboards and memorabilia from their favorite hippies. There was much to do here to escape the city as well- five sandy beaches, whale-watching, delicate shopping and a row of breweries. The sand was a warm yellow, almost white. The water was clear and salty. Dogs ran wild, chasing driftwood sticks. Bonfires were nightly. Kayaks and sailboats dotted the pier. Life was good- better. 

Life was always better on Huntington Beach, California. 

"You know they burned your corpse, right?" Harris states nonchalantly, tying together a feathery laurel for a headpiece. "On a surfboard. It was so generic!"

Right, that. Bohdi was deceased and stuck with a mouthy archangel to guide him into the afterlife. So much for reminiscing on his old home- this place, full of clouds and constant sunlight, was where he was spending the rest of his days. 

Just moments ago, he'd started to accept his death. It was looking up in Heaven, no pun intended, as Harris showed him pieces of the holy land that made it feel a little more like home.  
There was the rainbow bridge, where deceased pets roamed free, waiting to see their owners again. Fountains of youth dotted the world, rejuvenating it's swimmers to wrinkle-less beauties. Food was endless- available at any time of day, no risk of overeating, obesity, or disease. Heaven was dense and shining- but it wasn't Huntington Beach.

That's what's keeping Bodhi Tate from relaxing. 

"Thank you for the reminder," The surfer mumbles, tossing a rock into the sea of clouds beneath the ancient stone ledge. It disperses to bits, as dead as the thrower. He had been learning, from Harris, that nothing in the afterlife mattered. You could throw an archangel off the Eiffel tower and they would come back bruise-less. "I just don't see why it's like this. How unlucky did I have to be to die?"

"As I said, it's just His will," The archangel mounts from a sitting position to place his newest creation upon Bohdi's mop of curls, resulting in a string of curses to spill out of the boy's vocabulary. "What, you don't like it?"

"It's basically your flesh," Bo snickers, bringing the headpiece into his hands. It's soft, woven with his white feathers, shaped into a Greek-looking laurel wreath. A few scraps of the feathering fall to his legs, dotting his worn shorts. "How am I supposed to wear something like this?"

"It's holy! How often does someone get a laurel made of the feathers of an archangel? You should be thankful, I just did you a massive favor." Harris frowns, his hands on his hips. As the sun began to dip underneath the clouds, he fluttered his wings in the breeze and took a deep breath. "It's time to go. We're overdue for you to see Him. You do realize I have business to do besides make you jewelry, correct?"

Bohdi sighs into his hands, setting the headpiece on his scalp. Fine, he'll wear it- just because he thinks Harris is a decent person. "I just wish I didn't have to spend so much time thinking about the past. I mean, with a life like mine, I'll never find this place better than home."

The archangel frowns, gliding by on the marble with his wing-tipped sandals following. Of course, he could do lots for his newest follower, but there wasn't much time in his life to make every person happy in the holy land. That was something they had to figure out themselves. 

"Well, I could always send you back..."

"WHAT?" The surfer bleats, blue eyes flaming with anger. The angel steps back, tucking shy hands behind his back. Oops, that slipped. "You're telling me you could've sent me back this whole time. What kind of no-good Satanist are you? That's all I've wanted from you! That's why I'm wearing this stupid thing!" Finding the laurel, Bohdi braces it around his fists to break it in half. Now, however, the feathers have turned to strong gold. "It's fucking gold?"

Harris blushes, bringing himself to rub a hand on Bohdi's back. "I told you, it's holy. I knew how much you wanted to go home. As long as you're wearing it, you'll be a ghost. But it only works for twenty-four hours, and then you'll have to come back." 

The surfer looks down at his hands, the whiteness, the disappearance of his tan. Would he care to see the coast one more time?

Of course, he would. Even if he was dead, and stuck with this annoying ass archangel by the name of Harris, he would trade anything to go back and see the salty water one more time. Nothing was better than home, not even Heaven's glorious pastures and mile-long tables of food.

"O.K." Rising from the marble, Bohdi sets the laurel back on his curly mop of hair. Through the past few days, he’s learned to accept his death; those who were here were here for a reason, and obviously, he was on a mission to solve whatever that reason was. Never give a quest to a teenage boy without knowing he’ll want to complete it. "Let's do it. Let's go see Huntington Beach."

Before the angel can mutter a single phrase, the brunette takes his hand, kisses it sharply, looks him dead in the pupils, and holds on as they disappear under the clouds.

Harris can't hold the blush over his cheeks when he finds himself clutching the boy as they land.


End file.
